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I Divorced Him at Our Wedding, and He Went Mad with Regret
I Divorced Him at Our Wedding, and He Went Mad with Regret
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In my past life, I suffered a postpartum hemorrhage, agonizing in childbirth for three days and nights. But Quentin Archer took his childhood sweetheart, ran off with all the money meant to save my life, and disappeared. Before I died, I saw him at the door, holding that delicate woman, his eyes as cold as ice: "Pearl Shaw, a washed-up hag like you who only knows how to work is unworthy of this official's brilliant future." When I opened my eyes again, all I saw was red. I had returned to my wedding day. I ripped off my bridal veil and, in front of all the guests, threw the bowl of nuptial wine in Quentin Archer's face. "Quentin Archer, I'm not marrying you. I want a divorce, and I want you to spit out everything you've taken from me, with interest!"